


Illinois Run

by Lucifuge5



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Space AU, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 17:50:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifuge5/pseuds/Lucifuge5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Captain Francesca Vecchio of the <em>VOLPE FEMINA</em>," she said, standing up a little bit straighter with every word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illinois Run

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brigantine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brigantine/gifts).



> Many thanks to Isiscolo for last-minute, speedy AND very pointed beta; to The AntiChris for the kind of Beta work that kept me writing; to Malnpudl who--in addition to betaing--did a lot of hand holding and cheering all the way to the very last minute. :D

Frannie flicked the last switch on the console before pulling her safety harness across her body. Back when she was in school, she'd usually given her best cold stare, like only a Vecchio could, whenever anyone suggested wearing one during takeoff. It had only taken one extremely bumpy ride through the Ajax asteroid belt--which culminated in falling out of her seat and almost breaking her wrist--to persuade her to heed her pilot instructors' advice.

Ms. Thatcher, her favourite teacher, had warned her that it was a choice between the harness and wearing a helmet.  Being born with a head that, in her opinion, was not suited for a hat, let alone a helmet, Frannie went with the less humiliating option. Besides, who wanted helmet hair?

The nav system was still booting up when she picked up the receiver. "Is everything locked up in the bay?"

There was a burst of static followed by Sandor's voice. "Yes, Captain, everything is sealed tight. I'm on the way to you."

"Hurry up, then," she said. "We've got to leave soon if we want to make it to Illinois on schedule."

 The ship's network had finally made it online by the time Sandor, red-faced and huffing, dropped in the co-pilot's chair. "Remind me next time not to turn down vacation."

"Chill your rockets, Sandor. We'll be back in no time." She picked up the headset and typed in the ship's code. "VF-287X to Control Hub. Requesting permission to depart. Over."

The radio console crackled back. "Leaving us so soon, Frannie? Word here at the Hub is that your crew's on vacation. Over."

Frannie rolled her eyes. Even five years after going all over the universe, people seemed to think she was some bimbette playing with the big boys. "You've heard wrong, mister. I've got my wings and I've got to fly. Plus, both Elaine and Sherry took their neuropods with them. They can take an FTL shuttle and meet us wherever we are in a matter of days. Now are you going to clear me or no?"

"Easy, easy. I'm in no mood to ruffle your beautiful feathers, Frannie," the voice at the other end said. It kind of sounded like Gardino's. "Control Hub grants permission to depart, VF-287X. Cyberlocks are disengaged. Have a safe flight. Over."

"Clover, um, I mean, _Roger_ that, Control Hub." Frannie took a hold of the steering wheel and pushed it away from her. The _VOLPE FEMINA_ surged forward and then up. She concentrated on looking past the approaching clouds, trying hard as she could to forget about the uncomfortable sensation of her stomach dropping. The atmo inside her ship was pretty smooth once they were in orbit. However, the trek between land and outer space was a whole 'nother thing.

The _FEMINA_ \--once called the _ANGRY VOLPE_ \--had been badly abused by Volpe's crew before it ended up in Frannie's hands. This meant a lot of shaking between starting her up and leaving gravity behind.

Sometimes, she liked to think that the ship had sighed with relief when Volpe had handed over the keys and paperwork to her.

"I'm going to grab a bite," Sandor said once they were surrounded by the darkness of space. "You want something?"

Still feeling a little queasy _,_ Frannie shook her head no. "I'll grab a snack later. Come back at 21:00 for second watch, OK?  Get some closed-eye if you want to." She ignored the confused face Sandor gave her before walking towards the galley.

 Five minutes later, a faint music came out through the speakers followed by her name. "Captain Vecchio, I don't have any plotted courses for this trip. As a matter of fact, there aren't any jobs for the next two weeks. Are we running 'under the radar', as Elaine likes to call it? Shall I summon the others?" The Prime-Reactive A.I. (Turnbull upgrade) was using its less formal voice.

"Thank you, Turnbull," Frannie answered, "but there's no need. A client sent a beacon saying that the shipment's ready earlier than expected. Um, look under the scheduled ops for January."

"One moment, please." The music, some classical bit that Frannie didn't recognize, rose in volume for a few minutes. "Oh, we're going to Illinois. Hmm, that planet is about 170 boosts to the edges of the charted territory. Is that wise?"

Frannie raised an eyebrow--not that Turnbull could really see it, much less appreciate it, but the gesture comforted her. She turned on the cruise control. "I know what Elaine said, Turnbull. But it should be smooth sailing. Besides, I didn't tell her to go get married to my brother, right? Meanwhile, Sherry wanted to celebrate her birthday with her son and his family. What else was I going to do while landlocked but play babysitter to Maria's children? It's not a big deal. Just a simple cow run."

"Well, we're en route already," Turnbull sighed. "I'll make sure to keep all the hospital and police data available at all times, just in case. 264 hours through space is a long journey."

"Yeah, I know that. It would be faster with one of those new magnetic spinners. Elaine keeps telling me about it. Maybe we'll get enough money from this job to get a second-hand one."

"Elaine would appreciate it."

Frannie squinted at the space in front of her. Having a 'discussion' with someone who didn't really exist was hard, but that had never stopped her before. "Don't go taking sides with her just because she's the mechanic."

There was a brief pause. "I'm programmed to care."

"You're my guardian angel," she said, taking off her glasses to polish them. In her mind, Frannie liked to think that Turnbull blushed.

"Would you like me to read to you?" Turnbull said after a beat. "I took the opportunity of restocking my library while we were planetside."

She bit her lower lip while considering it. Hour after hour staring out the window would drive anyone cuckoo. "Do you have the sequel to _A Bet on Love_? I really want to know what happened to Clarissa after she escaped the clutches of the evil Count."

"Very well," Turnbull said. Then he did that thing that sounded like he was clearing his throat. " _The Heart Always Wins_. Chapter One. _The skies had finally cleared by the time Clarissa had reached sanctuary . . . ._ "

Turnbull's enthusiastic narration kept Frannie entertained for the duration of her shift. Next thing she knew, Sandor's steps echoed in the low hum of the cabin.

"Here for second watch, Captain," he said, a cup of coffee in his hand. "I made a fresh pot if you want some."

Though tempted--all she had had while flying was a few Lunitian granola-like bars--Frannie ignored the aroma and sat up, the ache in her lower back pulsing steadily. Ten hours of piloting was exhausting. "No thanks. The next watch is a 12-hour one, so I'm turning in."

Turnbull coughed. "May I play some more operettas? I downloaded them from the _NORTHERN GOAT_ 's network when we docked. Captain Fraser likes many different kinds of classical music."

"Yeah, and he also _likes_ his co-captain, Turnbull," she said. It had been a good thing that she had caught on way before she found herself chasing after a man that she would never get. Fraser respected her, and it was hard not be charmed by that. Plus, he was a cutie. He always treated her proper, unlike half of the rogues she met while traveling, which was something that would have made her driven her crazy if she hadn't realized a few things about him.

Turnbull hmmed, interrupting Frannie's thoughts. "Captain Kowalski. His music data is rather strident."

Kowalski had been in the graduating class before Frannie's. He had never given her any grief. "Uh-huh. Go ahead and play some more of that concerto, Turnbull. I'll be back at 06:00, Sandor."

He took out his neuropod and began typing ferociously in the air. "I'll wake you up if there is any news."

Frannie nodded as she stepped out of the cabin. With heavy legs and aching back, she made her way through the corridor that connected all the different stations.  "Just a few more steps, Frannie," she told herself, not for the first time feeling grateful that her room was the first one in the sleep quarters. She pressed her right hand against the ident-pad to the side of a metal door with a polycarbonate plaque etched with CAPTAIN in light pink letters. One of Volpe's departing touches. Frannie got the meaning behind it. She figured he'd be angry about losing a ship, but more than that that he had lost it to _her_. That he hadn't had his thugs graffiti "BITCH" instead was a consolation of sorts. In any case, she had considered replacing the plaque, but that would have been, like, admitting that she was wrong to have wanted this. And so the frilly nameplate remained.

She slipped out of her piloting gear, a light-blue, long-sleeved top and black cargo pants. It wasn't until she had put on her PJs that she began to let the day wash away. The Martian foam mattress was soft. Frannie sighed as she started to drift into sleep.

~*~

Woken up by the artificial sun lamp in her room, Frannie stretched her arms out before picking up her neuropod. Sitting up, she turned it on and placed her left hand at its center, letting the scanner read her fingerprints. Tapping on the right hand corner brought up the email screen. The holographic screen blurred as she searched through her inbox. She read the most urgent one first.

 **From:** Wilson.Welsh@the27thranch.il  
 **To:** CapVecchio@v-femina.downtime.space  
 **Date:** Tuesday, November 14, 2307 8:43 A.M.  
 **Subject:** Payment  
 **Priority:** High

_Dear Captain Vecchio:_

_Attached you will find the confirmation of the transfer of half the payment (15600 universal credits) to your account. As agreed, the second half will be deposited upon the completion of delivery._

_We look forward to continuing business with you in the future._

_Sincerely,_

_Wilson Welsh_   
_The 27th Ranch_

Frannie's quick reply included the _FEMINA_ 's ETA. She set the neuropad on standby then got out bed to do her stretches. Part of her looked forward to the next week and a half of switching seats with Sandor, running through the rest of the month's schematics with him, listening to Turnbull do different voices while reading any of the romance ebooks and getting to see more of the universe. This was **her** adventure.

Occasionally, she couldn't help wondering if she would still feel as passionate about going through space in another fifteen, twenty or even forty years. Sometimes the nights were cold, yet, at the same time, being with someone usually meant leaving the universe behind. At least, that had her been her experience.

It wasn't as if time went any faster or slower in space. The trick was to use the lamps to establish a routine, if only to have something for the mind to hold on to. A stable mind meant the body would adjust as well. Frannie had never seen a space freakout first-hand. But Elaine had, and what she had told her was enough to make sure to set her lamp without fail.

Picking up her toiletries, she made a mental note to get a plant or two for her cabin as soon as she could. Taking care of something would be soothing.

~*~

Even though the days didn't exactly fly by, Frannie couldn't help but feel surprised the day Turnbull announced that they would arrive in Illinois in less than 5 hours.

"The current temperature in the surrounding areas to the 27th Ranch is 23.8 degrees Celsius. Humidity is at 18%. Wind is ENE at 13 miles per hour. Sunrise is at 06:34 hours, Illinois time. Sunset will be at 17:00 hours, Illinois time."

"A perfect spring day." Frannie smiled. "It's about time," she said as she placed her guns on the charging station. She didn't expect any trouble, but people could get funny ideas. "Turnbull, wake up Sandor when we're two hours away."

"The alarm has been set for 07:00, Captain. Shall I set one for you as well?"

"No. I'm going to get my manicure bag. I'll be right back." Femininity was something to hold on to no matter how far out into space she was. Besides, her nails needed buffing.

~*~

Three hours later, Frannie shook her hands as she waited for the nails to finish drying. She had chosen a subtle colour called Intergalactic that was nothing more than a little bit of gloss with a hint of orange.

She had finished applying the top coat when Turnbull's voice echoed in the room. "Francesca? I'm receiving a beacon from the 27th."

"Patch it through." She switched the microphone on. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sandor come in and sit down in the copilot chair.

"Hello, _FEMINA_? This is Wilson Welsh over here. I've got you within range. How close are you guys?" It was a friendly voice with a slight twang.

Frannie looked at the diagnostics' screen before answering. "Good morning, Wilson. It looks like we're less than an hour away from Illinois."

"Great! We'll be glad to see you folks take care of our shipment."

"Well," Frannie said, "over here, we're happy that you guys are throwing some business our way. Have you sent us the door codes?"

"Mort is sending it to the _FEMINA_ 's computer right now. Wouldn't want you guys to end up getting fried."

"Cool." Suddenly the ship started to shake as it entered the planetary atmosphere. "Wilson, we're about 30 minutes from the ranch. See you dirtside."

"Bye. Y'all be careful with the landing, y'hear?"

"Okay," she said before cutting off the mike. The ranch appeared in the horizon, a medium-size group of structures surrounded by a blue-tinted force field. Frannie swallowed hard. The kind of electrical charge one of those fields gave out was enough to burn everything in the ship, including Sandor and her. "Turnbull? The codes are legit, right?"

"Yes, they are, Captain. I'm sending our reply right now."

Frannie slowed down just in case they had to land outside of the energy shield. It had happened once before. The rancher, a greasy-looking guy called Guy Rankin, had blamed it on the ozone, but Turnbull's diagnostics showed that the O-level was within normal. In this instance and to her great relief, the net-like dome faded into the ether long enough for the _FEMINA_ to pass through and set herself down.

"All right," she said as she got up and put her guns back in her hip holster. "Showtime."

Sandor powered down the ship and retrieved his guns as well. "Right behind you, Captain."

~*~

She had been expecting an industrial complex thing, or maybe a place crawling with droids. Some ranchers liked to flaunt their wealth. Instead, the one story buildings had a simple façade. Standing in the middle of the field was a tall man, balding and with an openly friendly face, waving at them as they stepped out of the ship.

Frannie closed her eyes, tilting her face towards the sun, soaking up the exquisite warmth on her skin and enjoying the smell of grass. As much as she liked flying, it was nice to feel solid earth beneath her boots as well as the pull of gravity. _Real_ gravity.

"Howdy, folks," the man said, tipping an honest-to-goodness cowboy hat. "I'm Wilson Welsh."

"Captain Vecchio," Frannie replied before pointing her thumb to her right. "This is my first officer, Sandor."

Wilson nodded. "Captain, Mr. Sandor."

"Okay, so let's go see those cows of yours, yeah?" The sooner they could get everything back in the _FEMINA_ , the sooner they could get going and get paid. Perhaps they could catch up with the _GOAT_ and help them move their cargo to the Arizona star-system. Do a job and keep moving, that was Frannie's way of going through life. Putting down roots only led to heartache and tears.

Wilson turned his head toward the largest of all three buildings in the area. "Uh, well, Harding is still checking the last group . . ." He twisted his head back and gave her a nervous smile. "How about you folks freshen up? Have you had breakfast yet? I was just about to tell Melinda to get some pancake batter on the frying pan."

Frannie squinted at Wilson's hesitation. She would have said something if her stomach's growl hadn't said it first. "As long as you've got a cup of coffee . . ."--the rumble from Sandor's stomach was even louder--"or two, we can see to them later."

Apparently, visitors were rare at the 27th, because as soon as Frannie had accepted the breakfast invitation, Wilson's smile grew tenfold. "Follow me," he said in a friendly manner. It made Frannie miss her Ma for a moment.

~*~

For once in her life, Frannie didn't talk much in between bites of her breakfast. The truth of the matter was that neither Sandor nor Elaine could cook, and Sherry's food was always bland, despite her brilliance as the ship's engineer. Frannie, as the captain, didn't have much time to spend behind a stove. Ship rations being what they were meant enjoying a hot plate of chow any chance they got.

 In any case, Wilson was curious about things back at the Central planets and Sandor, who had contacts everywhere, brought him up to date on the news from back home. She was about to ask again about seeing the cows when the slam of a door nearby made her almost jump out of her seat.

Wilson put down his half-empty cup of coffee and looked out the kitchen window. "Sounds like Harding's done. By the look of your plates, y'all are about finished with breakfast. Wanna check out the shipment?"

There was a prickly sensation in the back of Frannie's head, so, when she opened up her mouth, she said the first thing that came to her mind. "Why so skittish around Harding? He an ogre or something?"

Wilson shook his head no. "He's . . . well, my brother's a mite sensitive about the cows. Sometimes he spends days recalibrating them. There was this one time when he nearly got rid of an entire line because the cows took about three seconds too long to respond to complex commands. Understandable, since we would never put a faulty product in the market. It's just . . ." he stared out into the distance, "he can be a little." And at this, he made a so-so gesture with his right hand.

Not that Frannie got whatever Wilson was trying to say, but she was curious to see the new cows up close. "Software genius, huh?"

~*~

"So, how did you guys end up in this business?" Frannie asked as they walked to the barn. Sandor had gone back to the ship to get the cargo truck and electric pallets.

Wilson looked back at her. "Well, Harding went to the main university in Central, full scholarship, the works. I always knew he would end up doing something with robotics. When I was five, he wrote a subprogram that got the house cyber into ignoring everyone but him. Our father got all riled up about that one." He smiled at the memory. "We used to spend hours taking things apart, looking how they worked, trying to figure out the why of things, you know? I think that's what got Harding into designing the cows. Our cybers, you see, are made of titanium-monocarbonex alloy with which we can build a lightweight machine that can withstand most environments." He stopped in front of the entrance door and leaned his head forward for the retinal scan. The door opened up with a hiss. "Anyways, I went to the same school soon after. I think our father was very proud--"

A deep voice interrupted him. "Yeah, but he went to **your** graduation, not mine."

"He was busy--" Wilson replied.

"Nah, he was drunk. I think there was a special on Firewater that day."

Ignoring the rows of shiny cybers in front of her, Frannie searched the darkness, trying to pinpoint where that voice was coming from.

A man came out from out of the shadows. He was slightly taller than Wilson, with a solid figure and the beginnings of a paunch. He wore a pair of dark blue overalls with the 27th Ranch logo on one side. "But that doesn't change anything," the man said, swiping his right hand over his chest before offering it. "Harding Welsh."

Frannie took in the serious face and the wavy hair and the big hand that had enveloped her own. "Captain Francesca Vecchio of the _VOLPE FEMINA_ ," she said, standing up a little bit straighter with every word.

"Is that a fact?" Harding said with a side smile. "You're going to be transporting my cows?"

She knew what he was looking at: a short woman in black pants, a hip holster and a tiny shirt. She knew she looked good. But what was front and center in her mind was the tingle that ran up her arm as she continued shaking hands with Harding. "We are. So get that wasp out of your baseball cap, Mister Welsh, because your cows are in good hands."

Wilson coughed. "Don't you mean bee?"

"Bee, wasp, butterfly, whatever." She dropped her hand.  "The point is we can start loading them, be on our way soon. Deliver them earlier than promised."

Harding's stare was making her blush. He cleared his throat. For a moment there, Frannie would have sworn he was looking a little flustered. "Right. The cargo that's ready for delivery is this group right here." He pointed at twenty rows of cybers wrapped in Martian padding inside open crates. "Wilson, let's get them boxed in." At this, both Welsh brothers started to close the crates. On the front of each container, they attached a big label that read: Cyber Organic Worker – Model No. 9601.

Frannie tapped her wrist comm. "Come on over, Sandor. I think--" she swallowed hard when Harding stopped to drink from his canteen. "Um, I think we can leave as soon as the ship finishes refueling." There was a few seconds of crackly static before she heard Sandor's "Roger." She started the box count, trying not to get distracted whenever Harding walked by her.

A few minutes later, Sandor pulled up in the mule with the extra pallets. He parked outside of the barn and hopped off. "Ready when you are, Captain."

And so they began the long process of prepping the cargo, only breaking once for a quick lunch that everyone ate in silence.  

Once the bay was full, Frannie unhooked the ion nozzle from the ship's tank, feeling glad that they wouldn't have to stop anywhere along the way to refuel. The sun had already dipped past the horizon and, though a little earlier than scheduled, they could leave Illinois that very same night. She wasn't exactly happy about leaving, though there was something inside of her that was prompting her to lift off and fly away.

She was sitting by the cargo entrance holding her neuropod, waiting for the digitized copy of the signed transit papers to finish uploading, when she caught sight of Wilson hurrying across the field. "How about a proper meal before you take off, Captain?" he asked, in between puffs, once he stood in front of her.

Frannie stood up and looked Wilson straight in the eye. Had it been anybody else, she would've thought he was trying to pick her up. But she had noticed ( _spied_ ) a quiet moment between Wilson and Melinda that was far too intimate to be anything but between lovers.

"Harding's making roast beef and Vogonese potatoes, so I'm sure there will be more than enough to go around." His expression was so eager that it made Frannie pause until things fell in place inside her head.

Was Wilson trying to set her up with Harding? With gruff ( _but manly,_ her mindsaid), too-smart-for-the-likes-of-you ( _but interesting),_ totally-oblivious ( _not really_ )-to-the-fact-that-your-belly button's-showing Harding?  This was . . . interesting. Frannie hadn't sworn off love. Well, not _really_. It simply was too hard to be swept away by the kind of romance that only existed in the books Turnbull read to her. Getting divorced and having two ill-fated romances--including one with Rankin that her brother still yelled at her for--had thrown a damp comforter on her illusions.

On the other hand, she couldn't even remember the last time anyone had tried to set her up. Taking inspiration from her favourite romance heroines, Frannie gave Wilson a warm smile and accepted the invitation. What was the worst that could happen?

"All right, Wilson, we'll stay for dinner. Let me go get cleaned up, yeah?"

For a moment there, Frannie thought Wilson was going to dance a jig he was so happy. He gave her a thumbs up instead. "Soup's in an hour."

~*~

A little over an hour later, Frannie walked to the main house trying to keep all the butterflies inside her tummy from flying out. Walking next to her, Sandor looked like he couldn't wait to be sitting at the table already. It would have amused Frannie if she hadn't been feeling so nervous about having another sit down meal with _Harding_.

The spread on the table was mouth-watering. Golden dinner rolls in a basket, a good-sized slab of roast beef with mixed vegetables that smelled like heaven and big potatoes covered in butter and cheese.

"You've outdone yourself, Mr. Welsh," Frannie said as she took in the meal.

Harding gave her a warm grin when they walked into the dining room. "Nah, just a way to say thanks. I know--I know I gave you guys a hard time earlier today. I like to be amicable whenever I'm given a second chance."

Frannie's face grew hot. "Well, all the same, Mr.--"

"Harding. Call me Harding. Sit, dig in." He walked up to her and pulled out her chair. "Food should not go to waste."

It touched her. Being treated like a lady. She had gone so long without this kind of politeness that she couldn't help but blush. "Thank you."

"So, tell me, Captain," Harding said after sitting down next to her, "how is it that you ended up commanding that ship?"

The hairs on the back of Frannie's neck stood up. "You mean how is it that a 'girl' like me rules the _FEMINA_?" Like she hadn't heard this before.

"No. I was wondering why you had _that_ specific ship." Harding picked up a roll and tore it apart."I **know** that its previous owner was a pretty unsavoury character."

Frannie studied Harding's calm yet hard face as the seconds ticked by. There was a story behind what he had just said. How else would he know about Volpe? For a moment, she imagined him as some kind of space pirate who had given it all up for the sake of a woman's love.

 _Her_ own story was one filled with gun fights and stolen cargo and (much to her dismay) two broken nails. "Volpe thought I was bad at poker." She raised an eyebrow before slicing through a potato. "His loss, my ship."

Sandor, who knew the whole story from way before he became part of the crew, kept eating. Wilson opened his mouth a few times before taking a sip of water.

For his part, Harding put down his butter knife and slid his thumb across his nose, almost hiding the quiet smile on his face. "Remind me never to ask you if you play cards, Captain."

She looked at him from under her eyelashes. "You can call me Francesca, Harding. If you'd like."

He _liked_. Or, at least, Frannie had the impression that he was enjoying the teasing so, she decided to push some more. "And maybe you can tell me how you came to own this farm."

Almost immediately, Harding's smile faded away. He poured water in her glass. "Dead father. Needed to eat. No more, no less."

~*~

They hadn't said much during the rest of the dinner. Frannie was disappointed by how awkward things had become around the time coffee was served. Harding had grown quiet and Frannie had decided to let the flirting drop. Maybe it was time to accept that Wilson's matchmaking skills were rusty.

She had just powered up the ship--after saying good-bye and graciously accepting a few doggie bags' worth of leftovers--when Harding ran out of his house frantically waving his arms.

Frannie was annoyed. The whole non-romance set-up had been clunky at best, and Harding had waited until _now_ to say something? Turnbull had once read her a very dramatic scene in which the hero had stopped the heroine from leaving at a crucial moment. She had enjoyed imagining the rapid heartbeat of the heroine and the two lovers sealing their reunion with a passionate kiss.

Which was _so_ not the case here.

Rather than facing him again, Frannie sent Sandor to talk to Harding. After a minute or two, Sandor raised his right hand, index finger pointing up, and waved it side to side. Frannie felt her shoulders slump at the signal, shut the ship down and stepped out into the night. She noticed that Harding had gone back to the main house.

"Captain, we can't go! He says there is a molecular storm hanging just outside Illinois!" Sandor said, his eyes as big as saucers. "We would have gotten caught in it if we had left."

 _Great._ She closed her eyes and dropped her head. "How long--"

There were footsteps and, even though she wasn't looking, she knew it was Harding.

"How long you'll have to stay? Well, _Captain_. I'd say about four to seven days depending on how fast the storm moves." His voice was a little too cool. Obviously, he was only worried about his precious cows.

 _Crap_.

Frannie fought the urge to turn around. For a moment, she didn't want to look at him. She didn't want to see his possible annoyance at having her sit the storm out at his ranch. Especially after his brother's klutzy attempt to pair the two of them up. "But," she said, "there's always a chance that there's a part of the planet that is storm-free, right?"

"If you were talking about Canadium, maybe, or a planet anywhere near that size. This," he said and here she did take a peek at him with his open arms, "is the size of one of Canadium's moons. Not small enough to fit in a pocket, but diminutive enough to have the molecular storm wrapped all around it. So, for better or worse, you are grounded." At first glance, Harding _did_ look disappointed. The longer Frannie stared, however, the more she could see what looked like a glimmer of hope.

"I mean, it wouldn't be anything other than suicide if you took off now," he said while sliding his thumb across his nose once again.

He _wanted_ her to stay! She saw her own loneliness reflected in his face. And just then, she decided that she wanted to know a little bit more about ranching. "Sandor, go tell Turnbull to send emails to the rest of the crew about our situation. I'll be checking in with them soon."

"Yes, Captain," he replied and headed to the _FEMINA_.

"So, it looks like I'll be your guest for a little bit longer, Harding. I hope you've got a good cappuccino machine somewhere in the ranch."

Harding returned her smile with a solid one of his own. "I'm sure I can build you one if we don't have one."

"Sounds good," was all Frannie said. She then gazed up at the dark purple sky with its twinkling stars and let the song of the universe run through her veins.


End file.
